


But If I Love You...

by buckysbbs



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - No COVID-19, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Feelings, Fluff, Kinda, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, lmao how is that not a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 05:19:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30084066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckysbbs/pseuds/buckysbbs
Summary: Volleyball superstar Ojiro Aran gets the opportunity of a lifetime when he's offered a role as the love interest in a big picture.Too bad his co-star Kita seems to dislike him from the start.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Ojiro Aran
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	But If I Love You...

**Author's Note:**

> HII so I've just finished hq to the top and uh... where are all the fics with Aran I'm mad. My boy deserves better than this ://
> 
> There are some mentions of racism in the beginning of this fic, but it's nothing explicit! I, personally, just don't think it's realistic to write about a black character in Japan without even mentioning the discrimination in society, but do let me know if it bothers you!

When Rintarou bursts into Aran’s house, eyes wide with a glee that’s unusual to see on the younger’s face, Aran knows the news will either make his day or  _ shatter _ it.

“Who’s the best agent ever?” Rintarou says, his voice still calm despite the bombshell he’s probably about to deliver. “It’s alright, I know it’s me.”

“I think I’ll decide that for myself.” The older straightens himself up, pausing the movie he was watching, and turns his entire body over to face his agent. “What happened?”

Rintarou sits down next to him, pulls some papers out from his bag, and lays them out onto the coffee table. “I got you a movie deal.”

Aran stares at him, bemused. “A movie deal.”

“Don’t be like that, Aran.” The younger smirks lazily. “What do you take me for? It’s not just any movie — it’s  _ Kai Nobuyuki _ ’s new movie.”

That catches Aran’s interest. Kai Nobuyuki is, quite literally, the only Japanese director of mixed race in the movie industry, and his movies are practically the only ones Aran will go watch and rewatch in the cinemas.

However…

“You  _ do _ know what I do, don’t you?” He asks, squinting at Rintarou to see if the other has caught something. “I’m no movie star — especially not one meant for  _ Kai Nobuyuki _ ’s movies. There’s no way he wants  _ me _ in his movie.”

He’d only met the director once in his life — a BLM event in Tokyo that’d gathered some of the most prominent African descendants living in Japan —, and he doubts he made much of an impression.

“I told you I got it, didn’t I?” His agent says. “That means he wants you. I know it’s a risky move, but I  _ also _ know this is the chance of a lifetime for you.”

Aran hesitates. “I have to train—”

“We  _ know _ .” Rintarou rolls his eyes. “Obviously, your priority is your  _ actual _ career. I know that, you know that, Kai knows that. It won’t interfere with your schedule.”

Aran doubts that — he works harder than Rintarou will ever know, and he’s not about to stop for some  _ movie deal _ , no matter how cool —, but he decides to give it a chance. The name Kai Nobuyuki has successfully caught his full, undivided attention.

“Is it a cameo or something?” He asks.

His agent’s face gives it away immediately. No matter how hard to read people claim Suna Rintarou is, Aran has known him for too long and the two of them are able to read each other like an open book.

“Not exactly,” Rintarou says, staring at him intently. “You’d be playing the love interest.”

Aran gapes. It’s a habit of his to not close his mouth fully whenever he’s breathing, so much so that all his teammates make fun of him for it, but this time he’s fully aware of gaping like a  _ fool _ — and he doesn’t intend on stopping.

“You’re kidding.”

Rintarou raises an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“The  _ love interest _ ?” Aran huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “No way, man. Kai is out of his mind…” He hesitates. “What’s the movie about?”

The other smirks like he knows he’s won — which he definitely has  _ not _ . Aran not only starring in a movie, but playing the  _ love interest _ , of all things… where does Kai get off, being this bold? The man’s as fearless as they come, apparently.

“It’s a high school movie,” Rintarou explains, but Aran can tell he’s hiding something. “You’d be playing the adult version of the love interest, which is why it wouldn’t require such a large commitment.”

The volleyball player narrows his eyes. “No, really. What’s the catch?”

Rintarou catches his eyes and they engage in a short battle of wits. They both know it’s pointless, since the younger will have to tell him one way or another, but it sure adds onto the drama — which, really, is what their friendship is made of. No matter how easygoing the two of them may seem, whenever they’re with each other it’s like something in the air shifts and they become two theater kids taking themselves  _ way _ too seriously.

His agent sighs after a few seconds. “It’s a gay movie.”

It’s a second of silence, and then Aran is laughing with his whole chest.

“Kai Nobuyuki, you crazy idiot…” He murmurs, shaking his head. “What is he thinking? How is that gonna sell  _ any _ tickets in Japan?”

Rintarou shrugs. “Don’t kill the messenger, man.”

Aran licks his lips and, just for a second, seriously considers the possibility. The BL genre in Japan is as strong as ever, both in anime and manga, but in mainstream cinema you’ll never see any mention of gay romance except as the butt of a joke. Further, there are only a handful of black actors in Japan, and Kai Nobuyuki is the only director employing them. The competitive sports industry is seemingly the only place open for people like Aran and Kai, and even then it’s not like there aren’t severe obstacles into becoming an established athlete.

Whatever Kai is planning with his new movie — be it targeting it for the foreign market, or just using it as a side-project —, Aran is both intrigued and apprehensive about it.

“What do you say?” Rintarou asks, one eyebrow raised. “Are you in?”

Aran sighs. It’s not exactly like he has to worry about being kicked out of his team or anything — Lord knows they need him more than he does them —, and he’s sure his career won’t be ruined if he does choose to star in the movie. His fans are his  _ fans _ because they’re not small-minded like other people, after all, and he’s long learned to ignore the racists.

“I’ll look over the script,” he says, and Rintarou smiles triumphantly. “I’ll let you know by tomorrow night what I think.”

His agent stands up, smug. “Oh, I already know what your answer will be.” Rintarou walks to the door. “But I’ll be a good guy and wait for your text tomorrow to let Kai know you’re in.”

He leaves, and Aran stares at the door for a few seconds before getting up to lock the door.  _ Of course _ Rintarou would barge in like he owns the place, but then not bother to lock it up after him when he leaves.

When he sits back down and looks at the first page of the script, he curses.

Not only is Kai Nobuyuki directing the movie, but  _ Oohira Reon _ is writing it — a.k.a. the only famous black Japanese writer in Japan. Aran’s a huge fan of his novels and movies, and Oohira and Kai have worked together twice and the results were both absolute  _ masterpieces _ of cinema and art.

He waits until after he’s had dinner to send Rintarou the text, and then goes for a night run because he’ll be  _ damned _ if he lets his agent act all smug about being right.

*

When Aran was very young, he’d starred in commercials.

He’d loved being in the spotlight, and he’d loved being treated like he was special. Back then, the color of his skin didn’t matter because all that mattered was that he was on TV, that people knew who he was, that people looked at him on the street and stared because they recognized him from the commercials.

It wasn’t until he turned nine that he realized that maybe that wasn’t actually the reason people stared so much. At that point, he wasn’t ‘cute’ anymore — his height was too large, his hands too rough, his voice too deep. Never mind that he was nine, a  _ child _ , because people just didn’t want him anymore.

Of course it upset him. He’d long dreamed of starring in movies and being a star, but because of racist assholes he wouldn’t be able to achieve it.

His mom signed him up for the volleyball and basketball club after he came to terms with his broken dream, and he took a liking to the former sport. His mom told him that, if he trained and gave his all to this one thing, he’d be able to be in the spotlight once again.

So he trained.

And now here he is: 18 years older, and a professional player in Japan’s National Volleyball Team, as well as the Division 1 Team Tachibana Red Falcons.

In a way, then, Rintarou bringing him that script and announcing that he’d gotten him a movie deal is everything Aran could possibly want, and his agent knows that. The other is the only person he’d told about his childhood dream — and only because he’d been drunk and particularly sad on that day.

Honestly, Aran’s not a professional actor by any means, and he’d read the script by skimming the descriptions and going straight to the dialogue. The movie doesn’t seem all too different from Western movies, in his opinion, but he’s absolutely sure Kai and Oohira will make it look amazing.

He’s still not sure why they chose him, of all people, but he’s not stupid enough to underestimate his influence — he has no doubt that the fact that he’s already a famous volleyball player played a huge role in choosing him. It’s a risky movie, after all — not only gay but also tackling the topic of race —, and he sincerely doubts the success this movie would have if they’d picked two unknown actors to play the main characters.

Aran knows this, of course, but he’s still not ready to meet the one and only Kita Shinsuke. He’d known Kai would pick a well-known actor to get the movie the press it’d desperately need, but to be starring alongside someone such as Kita was… terrifying, to say the least. Aran’s faced dozens of scary opponents on the court, but Kita is completely different from any of them.

It’s not that the actor is super famous, because he’s not. Kita mostly sticks to minor roles in shows and movies, but Aran doesn’t know if that’s deliberate or not. And it’s not that the other is the best actor in Japan, either — his skills are amazing, of course, but there are many others far more talented.

Rather, what makes Kita so terrifying is the sheer confidence he gives off — almost like he’s a robot, with no regard to things such as human emotion until it’s convenient for him. Aran has watched him in movies and he’s always amazed at the difference between the emotion he shows on screen and the monotony that he displays in real life.

Aran sees this the moment he lays eyes on his co-star, and then it’s all downhill from there. Kita is polite but extremely standoffish, and he tries not to be offended but it’s  _ very _ hard, especially considering how much he’d admired the actor previously. Thankfully, Kai assures him their scenes won’t be filmed until later on in the year, so they have plenty of time to get to know each other. 

The director and crew plan on filming the high school storyline first, as both of the main actors — Kusumoto-kun and Tanigawa-kun — are still in high school and would rather start filming during their summer vacation. This doesn’t quite work with Aran’s schedule, as he’s busiest from October to March, during the V.League, and mostly free afterwards. Kai-san tells him he plans on finishing filming with the high schoolers by January, but that he’s willing to wait those two to three months after the season is over so that Aran is available.

In terms of his working relationship with Kita, however, Aran’s not sure how advantageous the summer break will be — after all, it’s not like he’ll have time to get to know the other actor much.

At the very least, the readthrough goes amazingly well — as is to be expected when one is working with the likes of Kai Nobuyuki and Oohira Reon. His other co-workers are extremely nice and friendly, and when he meets Kusumoto Shoutarou, the little boy who’s playing the high school version of his own character Taichi, he immediately falls in love.

Kusumoto-kun is adorable. He’s 17, so not too young, but still Aran can’t help but want to squish his cheeks whenever the younger looks at him with admiration in his eyes. The two of them don’t really look all too alike, but the difference between Kita and Tanigawa-kun is even larger, so he figures it’s alright. So long as they can fool the audience into thinking they’re the same person, it’ll be alright.

Tanigawa Ryouta, who’s playing the younger version of Yuzuru, is also friendly. He’s a huge fan of volleyball, and whenever Aran looks at him the boy startles and averts his eyes as if he hadn’t just been caught staring. It’s adorable, and Aran tries not to let it get to his head.

“Alright,” Kai-san says, once everyone is done reading their lines. “I’ve told you all already, but just in case some of you didn’t catch it: filming starts at the beginning of August. I’ll send you the exact dates later. Kita, Ojiro, Aone, Inuoka, and Shirofuku — there’s no need for you to come, but I’d like you to watch the young actors and channel their personalities into the adult versions of the characters.”

Aran nods, even though he doesn’t trust himself to be able to do that. It’s been a while since he even thought about acting, and though he’s managed to research a bit about what it’s like the past few weeks, he still has little idea what to do.

“Every month, the cast gets together for a dinner party. I’d like all of you to come — although, in Ojiro’s case, I suppose that will be quite difficult.” Kai smiles sympathetically at the volleyball player. “It’s not obligatory, of course, but it would still help the film become more real, if all of you at least got to know each other.”

Aran’s eyes drift to Kita but he quickly looks back at the director. He can’t help that his co-star has such a personality, and at least it makes him feel better knowing the other is like that with everyone and not just him.

“Lastly: thank you all for coming, and I truly appreciate you all being here.” Kai beams. “I cannot tell you what this project means to me, to Oohira, and to the rest of the crew, and we all look forward to working with all of you.”

The actors all thank the director for his hard work and start leaving. Aran stays behind, figuring he has time, and approaches Inuoka and Shirofuku — the two actors who, out of all of them, have the most experience in acting. Neither is particularly famous or popular, but there’s no denying their hard work, and the two really caught his attention during the readthrough.

“Ah, Ojiro-san,” Inuoka-san says, smiling brightly. “I’m really looking forward to working with you! I’m a huge fan of your work, and I hope we can get along well!”

Aran smiles back at him and at Shirofuku-san. “I’m also a fan, Inuoka-san, Shirofuku-san. The two of you are very talented. I was wondering if you’d be able to help me with some of my lines…”

The woman nods eagerly. “Of course! We’d be honored, right, Inuoka?”

“Of course!”

Aran laughs at their enthusiasm. “Thank you.”

The two actors give him their emails, making small talk, and eventually Inuoka-san has to leave. This leaves Aran alone with Shirofuku-san.

As soon as they’re alone, the actress sighs.

“Ah, Ojiro-san,” she says, a frown on her face. “I shouldn’t interfere with others’ personal affairs, I know, but I have high hopes for this movie and it  _ does _ involve me, in a way.”

Aran’s smile fades. “What do you mean?”

“About Kita-san.” Shirofuku-san shakes her head. “He’s fairly easy to work with, and of course he’s very talented and hard-working. Whenever he’s around, I feel like he brings out the best in his co-workers.”

Aran nods along, having heard similar things from interviews of actors who’d worked with Kita. He knows Shirofuku played his girlfriend in a movie once, but both had minor roles, so he’d forgotten about it until now.

“But he can have very high standards for others. If you don’t give your all, he knows, somehow, and he won’t hesitate to reprimand you for it — not even if it’s in public.” The actress grimaces as if remembering a painful incident. “So sorry if he seems like kind of an asshole. Please try to have some patience with him.”

Aran frowns. He’s not the type to get too involved in others’ affairs — if they don’t like him, then they don’t like him —, but he also doesn’t consider himself hard to get along with. If he and Kita end up having a bad relationship, he knows it won’t be for any fault of his.

“Thank you, Shirofuku-san.” He does his best to smile. “I’ll do my best to get along with him, and with the others as well.”

The woman nods and they leave the studio together.

Aran looks forward to working on this movie, despite the disappointment he feels after meeting one of his favorite actors.

*

‘But If I Love You…’ is a love story — not only between two high school boys, but between the group of friends, between Yuzuru and his childhood, between Taichi and his grandpa. Even Aran, who’s about as deep as a brick, could understand that much.

As he trains and trains and trains, his mind rarely drifts off to the movie. He’s yet to tell his teammates about the movie deal — as a part of his contract, he’s not even legally allowed to tell them —, and with the V. League coming up, he’s not physically allowed the time to think about it too much.

Even so, he still finds himself working hard to memorize his lines: he records himself saying them at home, and then listens to that recording while at the gym. Shirofuku and Inuoka keep him up to date with the shoot, and he finds himself admiring just how much work is being put into the film.

Kusumoto-kun acts marvelously, perfectly able to capture Taichi’s main conflicts with himself: his anger at himself for being emotionally stunted, his lack of motivation and how it makes him feel selfish, his desire to see his dying grandfather but also his pure  _ fear _ — fear that the old man will die, fear that he’ll be in pain, fear that he’ll also go through that one day. Aran honestly doesn’t know how he’ll be able to channel the little boy’s skills in himself.

Tanigawa-kun is also incredibly talented, and even though the Yuzuru he creates is very different from what Aran had in mind while reading the script, he can tell that it’s exactly what Kai and Oohira wanted. Yuzuru is carefree and happy and he brings out both the best and the worst in Taichi, but the scenes in which the two are together are always lighthearted, always fun and easy. It’s a sharp contrast to the scenes in the future — or, at least, to what Aran imagines they’ll be like: heavy, full of intense emotion and regret.

Before he knows it, the volleyball season starts.

Aran doesn’t visit the set for six whole months, and he also doesn’t go to any of the cast dinners; most of the filming is happening in Hyogo, and he doesn’t find it in himself to drive seven hours just for that. However, during the little free time he has, he’s sure to keep up with the scenes that Oohira sends him via email. With each passing scene, Aran falls more and more in love with this movie and with these actors — he can tell they have a real future in the industry. He also spends his time practicing his lines, getting to know more about his character, and figuring out how exactly he’ll bring him to life.

At the end of January, Inuoka tells him that filming with the two high school actors is done. Him and Shirofuku tell Aran about how, during the two months they have to wait for him, the crew works on the editing and on filming the B-roll footage needed to make the film complete, so that they’re not wasting any time.

On the 25th, Aran celebrates Rintarou’s birthday, but has to leave early because he has a game on the very next day.

Kai tells him the official announcement of his casting will be made after the season ends, so as to not cause any unnecessary drama with the V.League, and Aran thanks him. While the volleyball player regrets not being able to work more with Kusumoto-kun and Tanigawa-kun, he still finds himself looking forward to filming with the others — even Kita.

In the end, the Tachibana Red Falcons finish in third place — which isn’t too bad, especially considering who they’re up against, but he still finds himself feeling frustrated. He knows him and his team put 110% into every game, but somehow they just aren’t enough to compete against the MSBY Black Jackals and the Schweiden Adlers.

Aran only gets a weekend off before he’s due to film — two days before Japan finds out he’s going to star in a movie. He tells his teammates that Saturday and they all congratulate him, seeming genuinely happy for him, and then he drives seven hours to Kakogawa. Thankfully, his family still lives there, and they’re perfectly willing to let him stay with them for a few months, so he doesn’t have to book a hotel or anything — or, rather, have Rintarou book it for him.

His mom is ecstatic to see him, and his dad even more so. Both of them only see him once a year, after all, and even then it’s not like they ever have much time. It’s nice to be home, not having to cook for himself and do the chores all by himself.

On Sunday, he meets up with Inuoka and Shirofuku and the two of them help him out with the more complex scenes of his character. It’d be ideal to have Kita there, as well, but he didn’t catch the other’s email when they met, and the actor made no effort to reach out to him.

On Monday, he shows up to set early. From Kakogawa to Kobe it’s a 50 minute drive, give or take, but he quite enjoys the travel. They’d secured an entire section of a street in Kobe in order to film safely, and this early in the morning is ideal for filming since there are practically no people roaming outside.

Only Oohira and Shirofuku are there once he arrives, and both seem surprised to see him.

“Good morning, Ojiro-san,” Oohira says. “It’s been a while.”

“It’s great to see you.” He approaches them, his mind set. “I was looking over the lines last night, and I had a few questions for you, if that’s okay with you, Oohira-san.”

The man’s eyes light up. “Of course.”

He questions the writer about the things he’s been most curious about — whether Taichi has come to terms with his sexuality, whether his race is to play a part in his arc, whether he’s still stuck on Yuzuru or if he’s moved on —, and Shirofuku watches the two of them discuss the film with interest in her eyes. Though her role as Taichi’s best friend isn’t big, she still commits herself 100% to the character, and occasionally even joins in on the discussion.

The crew start arriving as they talk, and Aran barely notices it when the others also get there, too immersed in the conversation. He can tell Oohira has put a lot of effort into the story, and he also notices how much thought Shirofuku has given the film. Immediately, he thinks that her and Kita probably didn’t have any trouble getting along on-set, due to similar work ethics.

Kai arrives shortly before Kita and most of the others, and from then on it’s work, work, work. Aran greets Kita, but is once again met with cool indifference.

The minute the camera starts rolling, however, the actor turns into a completely different person. Aran had thought he’d been ready to see it in real life, and was even looking forward to it, but the minute it actually happens he just… freezes.

He forgets the lines he’s been memorizing for six months and just stares, most probably gaping, at Kita. For a brief second, the emotion stays on the other’s face, his eyebrows scrunched up and eyes wide, but then that second is over and Kita becomes Kita again.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, but he doesn’t sound concerned — only annoyed.

Aran closes his mouth and clears his throat. “Sorry. Shit.”

He’d been preparing himself for an emotional scene, and he’d been preparing himself to have to work his ass off, but he’d never taken Kita Shinsuke into account.

This might be harder than he’d thought.

Kai brushes it off as nerves and tells them to start over, and Aran blinks it off.

In volleyball, the way he gets through his nerves is by sweating as much as he possibly can — sweating means effort means working. It not only calms him down to have a goal to work towards, but it also works to motivate him into giving it his all.

Now, however, he knows he can’t just start running laps around the set, so he tries to focus on his lines and on the emotions he’d felt when reading the scene. Although this isn’t such a heavy scenario — just the two of them saying goodbye after an emotional one-night-stand —, he’d still loved the dialogue between the characters and he wants to do it justice.

“Action!”

Aran blinks back to the present, and Kita looks at him with those eyes again.

“I have work tomorrow,” the actor says, as Yuzuru. “Will you come visit?”

Aran, as Taichi, allows himself half a second to stare at the other’s eyes, and then turns away. He brings his hand up and scratches at the back of his neck.

“I should head back to Tokyo.” He avoids meeting Kita’s — Yuzuru’s — gaze. “My… cat. I left her for a few days, but… you know how it is.”

Kita’s wide eyes drop, and he huffs out a small self-deprecating laugh. “Ah,  _ Taichi… _ you’re still a really shitty liar.”

“H-hey!” Aran feigns offense. “I’m  _ not— _ ”

“Just say you don’t wanna come, I won’t be offended.” Kita frowns thoughtfully. “Rather, not offended… just disappointed. And sad. And lonel—”

“Oi, I get it already.” He stares heavily at Kita— Yuzuru, who, in turn, tries his best to smile sheepishly at him through his disappointment. “I’m just not… I told myself I’d never go back there. We both know that.”

Kita purses his lips and swallows. It’s so easy to believe it’s real life, with such a talented actor in front of him, but Aran focuses on the cameras and the microphone and remembers himself: this isn’t  _ his _ life.

“Right.” Kita glances briefly at Aran. “Then I’ll see you later?”

Aran, as Taichi, knows fully well they won’t be seeing each other any time soon — not if he can help it.

Still, he nods. “See you, Yuzuru.”

Aran waits half a second, adding to the tension like Inuoka told him to, and then walks away from the camera.

A few seconds later, Kai calls out, “Cut!”

Aran untenses and turns back to the director and his co-star. He needs their approval, but he’s aware that take wasn’t  _ horrible _ .

“That was great, Ojiro-san!” Kai says, and pats him on the back. “It’s amazing, right? Seeing Kita in action.”

Aran coughs. “Uh.”

“But you did great. We just need to get a few more angles in, and then we’ll be good.”

They redo the scenes — once with Aran facing the camera and once with the two of them in the shot facing each other —, and by the time they’re done the volleyball player starts seeing why everything’s always so rushed: the sun is already far enough away from them that, if they were to shoot another scene, it’d be obvious they weren’t filmed at the same time.

The director calls on the others. “We’ll be moving onto the next scene — this one’s intense, though, so be sure to drink water and prepare before.”

He nods and everyone starts moving around. He’s taken away from the set for an outfit change, giving him plenty of time to channel his inner anger and annoyance. In volleyball, not communicating properly with your teammates can be deadly; in acting, it seems like it just brings out all the more genuineness in him.

When Aran returns to the set, Kai and Oohira are discussing something amongst themselves. Shirofuku and Aone are practicing their lines in the back, and the rest of the actors are watching in the sidelines. Kita is already standing in the spotlight, his outfit changed and hair styled into a more messy style, and his cheeks are flushed.

The volleyball player goes to stand beside him, feeling eyes on him. He usually loves this feeling of being the center of attention — of being the ace, the one who scores the points, the one everyone cheers for —, but this time is intensely different.

This time, he has nothing to fall back on if he falls.

“Alright, ready?” Kai shouts. “And action!”

Aran swallows down his nerves and shuts the makeshift door to the house loudly. With as much anger as he can muster, he treads through the street, making sure to stomp on the ground.

He continues walking even as he hears the sound of the same door being opened and shut behind him, even as he starts getting dangerously close to the camera, and even as Kita shouts out a loud, “Fuck you!”.

He only stops at Yuzuru’s next line.

“Run away like you always do, you coward!”

Aran turns around, scowling, ready to give Yuzuru a piece of his mind, but then Kai calls out, “Cut!”

At first he’s worried he did something wrong, but then he calms himself down. There’s no way he was  _ that _ bad — he had no lines, after all.

The cameramen move around, and Aran realizes they’re just changing the angle of the scene. He relaxes, realizing he didn’t do anything wrong after all.

“I loved that, Ojiro-san.” Kai smiles at him. “Now take all that anger and let it all out. This is Taichi facing his first love, finally coming to terms with his grandfather’s death, and realizing the man he loves also loves him back. This is Taichi remembering his grandfather and thinking that he doesn’t deserve to be loved, after all.”

The director’s words make Aran more sad than anything, but he thinks of Taichi and Yuzuru and he thinks about the betrayal and the hurt involved in both parts, and it gets him going again.

As soon as the cameras start rolling, he looks at Kita, who’s standing in the middle of the street and glaring at him, and shouts, “You don’t get to tell me how I feel, Yuzuru!”

The entire set is quiet. Kita just gapes at him, speechless.

Aran slowly makes his way to the other. “You have  _ everything _ . You have friends and your job and they make you happy, but you still try to live in the past with all your  _ bullshit _ memories and your  _ bullshit _ nostalgia.”

He’s close to Kita now, and if he takes another step he’ll be able to feel his breath on his skin.

Aran stays where he is.

“If you took a look around you, you’d see that there’s nothing else — only this, and you, and me.” He swallows heavily — Kai wasn’t kidding about needing water. “And  _ I _ don’t belong here, just like you don’t belong in Tokyo. Why should I force this —  _ us _ — into something neither of us wants?”

When he’s done talking, he takes deep breaths. This is the most he’s screamed in a long time — not even when playing has he ever felt  _ this _ light-headed.

Kita just stares at him, and Aran feels the cameraman behind him get closer. The one in front of him moves out of the shot but keeps its focus on his face, and he has to admire the skill work it takes to manage to pull the move off.

Eventually, the man in front of him takes a deep breath and looks at him, a determined, though heartbroken, look on his face.

“But if I love you…” Kita frowns and tears start springing into his eyes. “If— if I love you, and if you love me, then isn’t that enough?”

Aran takes a second to compose himself. His heart is beating really fast, exactly like it does whenever he’s about to serve the ball: he knows he’ll make it, but there’s still that one second of doubt, that 1% of him that thinks that maybe he might miss, maybe he might fall. 

And, deep down, there’s that 0.0001% of him that wonders if that would be so bad.

“I’m going,” he says, almost a whisper. He doesn’t look at Kita but at their shoes, because he thinks that’s the kind of person Taichi is. “I’m not coming back.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Aran turns around. He ignores the cameramen shifting around him, trying to keep away from the shot, because if there’s something he definitely doesn’t wanna do is look at the camera and ruin this whole thing.

He walks and walks and walks and it feels like forever, but then, finally, the scene ends and he turns back around.

Kita is already back to normal, even with tears on his face, and Aran has to wonder how he does it. Personally, he can’t cry and he can’t feel unless those emotions are  _ his _ .

“Amazing work, Ojiro-san!” Kai says, a wide smile on his face. “You have a lot of talent in you, you know?”

Aran smiles and thanks him. It’s hard to go back to himself after such an intense scene, but somehow he manages.

As the director and, eventually, Oohira, start telling him about what he can do better for the next take, he doesn’t let his mind wander off to Kita and his cat-like golden brown eyes. No. He focuses on what they’re telling him and takes all of that in, and when they start the second take he looks at Kita and sees Yuzuru, and not Kita Shinsuke.

*

It’s  _ hard _ .

Aran doesn’t know how other actors do this whole ‘pretending to be in love’ thing. He doesn’t understand how they can kiss and make out and pretend to have sex with people they barely know — and, in some cases, people who actually  _ dislike _ them.

It’s only the second week of filming, and after that first day he likes to think Kita started respecting him a bit more, but still. 

Things aren’t great.

Aran doesn’t think he likes Kita, not really; he likes  _ Yuzuru _ , both as Aran and as Taichi. Yuzuru smiles a lot and helps Taichi out when he’s drunk and takes good care of kids. Kita, on the other hand… doesn’t smile, and doesn’t help Aran out with his lines, and the closest he’ll get to complimenting Tanigawa and Kusumoto is when he tells them to work hard in school.

But Kita and Yuzuru both come from the same person, and Aran doesn’t know how he can separate them in his mind. Just as Taichi grows closer to Umeda and Hide and Tsuchida, Aran grows closer to their actors Shirofuku, Inuoka, and even Aone. Just as Taichi goes through a journey of self-discovery and learns to love others, Aran learns how to express himself better and also how to appreciate what he has.

In a way, Ojiro Aran  _ is _ Ishimoto Taichi, and vice-versa.

He doesn’t know how to keep himself separate, so he doesn’t know how to keep Kita and Yuzuru separate, either.

Thankfully, though, he and Kita keep their interactions to a minimum. Aran can already comfortably call Shirofuku by her first name, Yukie, and he thinks he might be getting there with Inuoka and, maybe even one day, with Aone too. 

With Kita, though, that’s all there is: Kita. Most times, Kita-san.

The breakthrough in their relationship only comes after their love scene — which is as weird to think about as it is to say.

Their ‘love scene’ is quite tame compared to other Japanese movies: it entails only a kiss and some heated ‘taking clothes off’ moment. After all, Kai may be bold, but he’s not stupid — he’s aware he’s already pushing it with a gay love story, but any more than three or four kiss scenes and he’ll be drifting into ‘BL’ territory.

Kissing Kita is as magical as it is heartbreaking, for all the reasons Aran’s mentioned before. The actor is attractive and he kisses well, but every time Kai interrupts the scene Aran finds himself seeking out the other’s lips — as if he were Taichi, as if Kita were Yuzuru.

He thinks the other doesn’t notice his, er, admiration, and that they both intend to ride this out ‘til the end without ever interacting — until Kita approaches him as they’re leaving, and asks him for his email.

Aran gapes. “My email.”

“Yes.” Kita takes out his phone. “So we may practice our lines together. After all, it only gets harder from here on out.”

Still surprised, the volleyball player gives the other his email as his mind wanders as to what could have possibly brought this on. Maybe the love scene did things to the other, as it did for Aran himself… but no. Kita’s a professional actor, and he’d never be bothered by something like that.

“Thank you,” the actor says, but doesn’t leave. “You’re a good actor, Ojiro-san.”

Aran willfully doesn’t gape this time. “Thank you, Kita-san. That, uh, means a lot coming from you.”

At that, Kita looks down and he wonders if he said something wrong. He can’t read Kita Shinsuke at all, and it’s difficult to accept because  _ Yuzuru _ is usually so easy to read… 

“I mean to apologize to you as well.” Kita meets his gaze. “I have been unfair to you and, although it was not my intention, I’m afraid this will affect our work.”

“Ah,” Aran says, shaking his hands with a sheepish smile. “Don’t worry about it—”

“I  _ will _ , Ojiro-san.” The actor’s icy gaze hardens, but not in a bad way. “I’m sorry for acting the way I did towards you. From now on, I hope we can work well together.”

The volleyball player doesn’t dare argue with that. “Alright, Kita-san.”

Still, even with that clear dismissal, the shorter man refuses to leave.

“I was also wondering if you’d like to join me for dinner.” With the same cool look on his face, Kita stares at him. “There are some things I’m curious about.”

Aran looks down at his phone, checking the time. He’d been hoping to get home before ten so he could eat and go for a run, but this is Kita Shinsuke and he doubts the opportunity will ever come again.

“Sure.” He smiles. “Do you have somewhere in mind?”

Kita nods and finally starts making his way out of the studio. Aran just follows him, being sure to text his family to let them know he’ll be going home late.

“There’s a nice restaurant close by,” Kita says. “If you don’t mind walking for a bit, it’s only about ten minutes.”

Aran raises an eyebrow. “Dude, I’m an  _ athlete _ . Walking’s seriously no bother.”

“Good.”

The two of them walk together in silence. Aran revels in it, knowing that the moment the two of them start talking he’ll have to officially get rid of any and all hopes he had for a purely professional relationship. If the conversation goes well, there’s about an 89% chance that he’ll start to really fall for the other; if the conversation doesn’t go well, he won’t be able to look at Yuzuru and  _ not _ imagine Kita Shinsuke.

“You’re also from Hyogo, right?” Kita asks, breaking the silence. “You still have a slight accent. Are you staying with your family?”

Aran nods. “Yeah, we live over in Kakogawa. I guess not even years living in Tokyo can ever hide your true roots, huh?” He smiles. “And yourself? Do you live in Hyogo still, or are you solely in Tokyo?”

“I also live in Kakogawa. It’s quite pleasant… though the drive from Hyogo to Tokyo is no joke.” Kita sighs. “Whenever I have work there, I just end up staying in a hotel until filming is done. It’s not worth the effort to pay rent there if it’ll only be for a few months.”

“Ah, that’s right — Kita-san, you do movies all over the country, right?” The actor nods. “That’s incredible! Which city was your favorite?”

Kita hums. “I quite enjoyed Osaki, in Miyagi. It was… unique.”

“I’ve never been…” Aran makes a face. “I’ll have to go there sometime.”

The actor watches him closely. “It’s a great place to take your… significant other.”

_ Ah. _

Maybe it’s something in the other’s tone, or maybe it’s the strangeness of the whole situation, but the athlete can tell there are several things left unsaid with just a few words.

Aran looks at him, eyebrows raised. “Is there something you wanna ask me, Kita-san?”

The two of them continue walking, but Kita slows down. He looks deep in thought, and Aran tries not to jump to conclusions — he doesn’t think the man was flirting, but he also didn’t think the other would be the type of person to bring up such topics.

“I’m curious as to why…” The actor clears his throat. This might be the most flustered Aran’s ever seen him, but if he didn’t know the other well from weeks of filming he wouldn’t have been able to tell. “... why you decided to take this role.”

Aran tenses. “Because of the gay storyline?”

The other doesn’t hesitate.

“Frankly, yes.” Kita stares ahead. “But also because you don’t seem like the type of person who would enjoy movies like this, Ojiro-san. Not to mention that you’re a volleyball superstar… what made you want to become an actor, as well?”

The taller man thinks about it. Although he’s already swapped spit with Kita and seen him shirtless, he doesn’t think the other wants him to go into the details of his broken childhood hopes and dreams, and he’s also not up for talking about it. Only Rintarou knows, after all, and he plans on keeping it that way.

On the other hand, he also doesn’t want Kita to see him as such a shallow person. Any fake excuses he gives will be just that: fake, and  _ excuses _ . Aran’s not one to back down from authenticity, and if he wants this relationship to at least become civil then he’s gonna have to be at least a little honest.

“I’ve always wanted to try it out, you know.” He clears his throat. “It’s not like I wanna become a movie star, but at least being a part of something that’s real and genuine… that’s always been my dream. Rintarou, my agent, he looked at roles from time to time, but I looked at them and they never really fit.”

He doesn’t mention the fact that most of the movie offers he got were of villains. There’s no need to get  _ that _ angry right now.

“And then this movie came, and…” He smiles softly. “I’m not deluded enough to think I was Kai’s first and only choice, but to know that he still thought of me when thinking of Taichi, it’s… I’m honored, you know?  _ Really _ .”

Kita watches him, most of his hostility complete gone now. Aran can rest easy, knowing that, at the very least, it looks like his co-star finally approves of him.

“And the gay storyline?” The actor asks bluntly, repeating Aran’s words from before.

“Ah, Kita-san.” The volleyball player laughs awkwardly. “That… it’s a private matter, you know?”

Thankfully, the other seems to understand. “I see.”

“What about you?”

Kita stops walking. “We’re here.”

The two of them enter the restaurant. By now, it’s old news that volleyball superstar Ojiro Aran is going to star in Kai Nobuyuki’s new movie, but still he finds himself feeling slightly self-conscious… if someone sees them here and posts it on the internet, there’ll be all sorts of rumors running around that Aran just doesn’t wanna deal with. Not to mention, Rintarou will be very annoyed at him.

Once the two of them are seated at the table, Kita continues their conversation.

“To answer your question, I chose the role because it was offered to me.”

Aran blinks. He hadn’t expected such a blunt answer.

“Oh?”

“You must know that it’s not very often that I’m offered the spotlight.” Kita warms his hands with the hot cloths they’re provided with. “I’m usually offered the role of the supportive best friend, and sometimes as one of the antagonists, but never the lead.”

It’s true: for all the research he did on Kita Shinsuke, never once was the man the lead actor in any movie or show.

“I appreciate the opportunity that Kai-san gave me, and I plan on making the most of it — to show the others that I can do it, so that more roles like this one may be given to me.” He hesitates. “I also… I can sympathize with the film’s story. It’s quite dear to me.”

It’s not exactly him coming out, but Aran’s heart skips a beat nonetheless. At the current point in their relationship, he knows that’s the closest thing he’ll get to the other opening up, and he appreciates the rare moment.

The two of them order their food and Aran tries not to think about how soft Kita’s lips always are whenever they kiss. He tries not to think about how the shorter tasted of mint earlier today, when they were filming their love scene. He  _ definitely doesn’t _ think about the other’s gentle touch and his strong fingers holding him.

The two of them talk about their jobs, with Kita showing a much more advanced knowledge of volleyball than Aran would have expected, and he’s surprised to find that the conversation flows easily between the two of them. He’d rightfully expected the other to be blunt and straight-forward when speaking, and he is, but he’s also mindful of social cues and respectful of Aran’s boundaries.

By the time they finish their meals, with each paying for their part, Aran thinks this is exactly what he’d dreamed of, but also exactly what he’d dreaded. It’ll do him no good falling for someone as talented as Kita Shinsuke — he’s dated one too many celebrities to know that they’re always busy, and to know that they’re never like what they seem to be in the eye of the public. It always put him in an awkward spot, since he likes being himself wherever he is, but with Kita he doesn’t feel as bothered by it…

… and that just makes it all the more dangerous.

Aran offers Kita a ride to Kakogawa after hearing the man usually takes the shinkansen back home, but to his disappointment the actor refuses.

“I don’t like owing people favors,” Kita explains. “Please don’t take this the wrong way.”

“It’s fine, Kita-san. Don’t worry about it.” He smiles. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The two of them part ways, but Kita Shinsuke doesn’t leave Aran’s mind until well into the night.

*

Kissing Kita Shinsuke becomes harder and harder after that night.

It’s the warm movements of their lips together, and it’s the adorableness in Kita having to stand up straighter to reach Aran, and it’s the subtle way their bodies just fit together.

It’s not that Aran purposefully messes up some of the kiss scenes just so they can redo them, because he’d never be that unprofessional and especially not in front of Kita… It’s just that Aran sometimes forgets his lines after a nice kiss, and, really, can anyone blame him?

Kita sure doesn’t.

Aran’s birthday comes and goes and he doesn’t think he’s ever treasured a present more than he does the volleyball signed by none other than Serginho (a.k.a. The best libero of all time) that all of the cast and crew got for him. It must have cost quite a lot, and he has no idea how they managed to get it imported all the way from Brasil, but he cries and thanks all of them once he receives it.

It’s already been three months of nonstop shooting, and they’re about to wrap up filming. Kusumoto-kun and Tanigawa-kun are also showing up now, just for last shoots and details, and Aran finds himself getting close to both of them. Both boys have gotten over their initial shyness and he’s even promised to give them a few lessons in volleyball — a promise he fully intends to keep once the movie’s done.

According to most of the cast and crew, the reason why it took especially long to finish shooting this movie was not only because Oohira and Kai wanted to make sure everything was exactly as they’d imagined, but also because the editors and producers were working at the same time as the shoots, to make sure nothing was missing. This means that none of the actors will have to come back for any re-shoots, but also that the shooting process takes longer.

It kills him to admit, but Kita’s also not as standoffish as Aran had thought. In fact, the actor is great with the boys — encouraging them and helping them with their technique —, and it really does  _ kill _ him. This shouldn’t be allowed, really.

Yukie and Sou are already onto him, and Rintarou has long since figured it out. The only reason Kita hasn’t mentioned Aran’s big stupid crush on him is probably because it would be highly unprofessional to do so while they’re still filming.

Which is why, while he’ll miss shooting and seeing everyone every day, he’s also kind of glad he’ll finally have time to process his feelings and decide, once and for all, whether his crush is just a result of having to kiss and pretend to be in love with the man, or if it’s actually legit. He’s not sure which one he’d rather it be.

With filming about to end, so too does the tight schedule that comes with shooting, as are the long journeys back and forth from Kakogawa to Kobe. Aran has to say he’ll enjoy getting back to his usual routine of training every day, no matter how Rintarou might reprimand him for it, and seeing his teammates again will be nice.

All in all, Aran has only positive things to say about his first actual acting experience: his co-workers were all incredibly nice, the crew was very dedicated and understanding, and Kai and Oohira were amazing to work with. He’s even managed to get both their emails so the three of them can keep in touch, though he doubts he’ll be offered another role any time soon.

It’s not that he was bad, because he knows he wasn’t. If he were, he doubts Kai would’ve kept him around for long; no matter how friendly the director, he wouldn’t have entertained Aran for three months if he were displeased with his work. He also doubts whether Kita would’ve given in and apologized if Aran were truly  _ bad _ .

So it’s not his talent nor his dedication that are in question. Rather, it’s simply his inexperience. Aran values truth and honesty above all, so he knows when to admit defeat: he simply missed his chance. Had he continued on working towards a career in acting when he was nine, maybe he’d have been able to pursue a career in acting now.

But he’s 28 and not getting any younger. They say it’s never too late to chase your dreams, but Aran has grown and matured and he knows that being an actor is no longer his dream —  _ volleyball _ is. He loves the feeling of the ball hitting his hand, and he loves the sound of it hitting the opposite side of the court. He revels in the cheers the crowd always greets him with, the echoes of his name, the sweat dripping down his entire body.

On the last day of filming, all of the cast and crew show up and they all thank each other for a job well done. Aran himself doesn’t cry, but Kai does, and everyone huddles around him to comfort and congratulate him.

They all join each other for a cast dinner party, and by midnight most of them are drunk off their asses. Yukie is going on and on about a book she’s reading, and Sou lists off exactly why he cares so much about person A, and why he appreciates person B, and why person C is the best editor ever, and so on. Aone is hitting on one of the stylists, who, in turn, flirts with the taller man right back. Kai is still crying, and Oohira films all of this on his cell phone.

Kita and Aran are the only ones not drinking. Aran doesn’t ask why the actor doesn’t, but he’s sure everyone else knows why  _ he _ himself isn’t: he’d publically sworn off alcohol a few years ago, for the sake of his health and career.

“Ojiro-san,” Kita says, the two of them ignoring everyone else and settling down by themselves at a quieter spot in the restaurant. “It was very nice to work with you.”

Aran smiles softly. “I enjoyed working with you too, Kita-san.”

“We’ll still see each other in the premiere.”

Aran blinks. “Yeah, we will.”

Kita looks down at his lap, messing with his fingers, and the volleyball player suddenly becomes very afraid at the turn this conversation might take. He’s never seen the other this nervous, and he’s half-tempted to just… run away.

“We’ll still see each other in the premiere,” Kita repeats, his voice smaller. “We  _ will _ , so why… why do I feel so sad?”

He says it with such surprise that Aran’s fear completely dissipates. Any worry he might have had that the actor would suddenly start crying is thrown out the window.

“It’s never been like this…” The actor turns wide eyes to Aran, and in this moment he’s both Yuzuru and  _ not _ . “Every time a movie ends, I always find myself relaxing, so why, with you, and with this movie… it’s strange, Ojiro-san.”

Aran softens. “You know, Kita-san, you can call me Aran.”

Kita licks his lips and says his name in such a delicious way that Aran almost melts right then and there.

“Aran.” The actor smiles, oh-so-softly, and Aran really  _ does _ die, then. “You can call me Shinsuke as well.”

The taller beams. “Alright, Shinsuke.”

“I know this movie won’t win any awards,” Shinsuke says, then, startling Aran with the sudden change of topic. “I know how Japanese award shows work by now, and they care more about pleasing the rich and powerful than they do about quality or dedication or meaning.”

Around them, some of the crew start cheering as someone starts doing shots of pure sake. Aran pays them no attention and focuses on the conversation at hand — it feels too important for him to let go.

“I also know that, rather than help my career, this movie will most likely harm it.” Aran opens his mouth to argue, but Shinsuke continues. “I know that, and I knew that from the beginning. Japan is still Japan, after all, and I love my country but I don’t think it’ll change any time soon.”

The actor looks at Aran, really meets his eyes in a way that he’s only done as Yuzuru before, and there’s  _ something _ in them. It’s different from when he’s acting, and it’s different from when he’s talking to a stranger — it’s  _ Kita Shinsuke _ , and not anyone else.

“ _ Still _ .” His voice is hard, in that determined way Aran’s only ever heard a handful of times. “Still… I think of all the young Japanese kids and teenagers who will watch the movie, maybe hidden from everyone else, or maybe with their friends and family. And it’s not just them — it’s the adults, too, and the elderly. I think that if we can just… if we can just help  _ one _ of them, if we can just change  _ one _ of their minds and views, if even  _ one _ person is able to watch the movie and feel seen… then isn’t that worth all of this?

“My grandma… I was raised by my grandma, and she used to tell me that there was always someone watching — that the gods were always watching us.” There aren’t tears in Shinsuke’s eyes, but his voice still wavers. Aran wonders if his grandma is the reason why he was able to relate to the film so much, and tries not to feel disappointed. “She died before I could tell her I was gay, and it always… I always wondered. If I’d told her, what would she say? Would she stop telling me the gods were watching, after all, or would she still believe they were? Would she hug me and tell me it would be okay, or would she cast me out?

“I know it’s impossible to know that now.” He sighs. “I know she’s gone. And I’ll never know what would have happened, just like  _ she’ll _ never know who I am. And that’s… to me, isn’t that a part of loving someone? If you don’t know something so important to them, how can you say you love them? How could she have loved me completely without even knowing who I was, completely? Isn’t it just… a fraud? Was the version of me she loved just a shell of who I really am? How could she have loved  _ that _ version of me but not the real me?”

Aran feels tears in his own eyes, but still Shinsuke doesn’t cry.

“But isn’t that a part of what loving someone is? Just… never knowing them completely, but still loving them anyway? Because I’ll never be truly myself with anyone, and I don’t think it’s possible that anyone else is, either.” Shinsuke clenches his fists and blinks back his sorrow. “But if she loved me, then isn’t that enough?”

Without thinking, Aran takes the other’s hand in his and squeezes. He’s crying, because he can understand what Shinsuke is saying and he can feel the grief he feels, and he wishes the other would cry, too.

“I think it is,” Aran says, and Shinsuke looks at him with wide eyes. “It’s enough.”

*

Aran and Shinsuke keep in touch, and during the premiere they arrive hand-in-hand.

The volleyball player cries when he watches the finished product, both because it’s a beautiful film and because he got to be  _ a part _ of the project. It’s more than he could have ever asked anyone, and even Rintarou, who’s usually so stoic, cries a little and comforts him for a job well done.

The editors managed to truly do some miracles: they took even the harshest scenes — the ones where Taichi and Yuzuru fight and shout and growl at each other — and made them look soft, with the colors and the lighting and the smoothness of each shot. Aran’s never paid attention to anything besides the actors and the plot whenever he’s watched a movie, but this time he can fully enjoy all aspects of the film, from the cinematography to the soundtrack.

Unfortunately, the movie doesn’t do well. It’s neither fluffy (or explicit) enough to appeal to BL audiences, but it’s also not  _ normal _ enough to appeal to mainstream audiences. All of them in the cast and crew had expected this, which is why the budget had been so low in the first place, but it still hurts to be right.

Aran earns praise for his portrayal, but other than that, the movie comes and goes and, within two months, is quickly forgotten. His teammates all congratulate him, but he can tell some of them didn’t even watch it. Aran tries not to feel too bad.

All throughout this, he keeps what Shinsuke had told him in mind: if the movie managed to affect even  _ one _ person, no matter how small, then it’s enough. It was all worth it, and the effort everyone put into the movie didn’t go to waste.

After the premiere in August, Aran doesn’t go back to Kakogawa and Shinsuke goes to Fukuoka to film another movie there, so the two of them don’t meet in person. Sou is also hired for the same movie, so in Tokyo Aran only manages to meet with Yukie and Aone for lunch. Both actors are searching for a new project, and they bid him good luck for the new season.

The V.League comes and goes like that, and though he’d been worried about keeping in shape while working in the movie, he’s surprised to find that he’d been able to keep up with most of his teammates. It’s kind of disappointing to see that they haven’t gotten much better since the last year, especially since most of the other teams seem to have grown a lot, but it’s also not like they got any  _ worse _ .

In the end, they finish in fifth place.

When the season ends, Shinsuke calls him up to congratulate him.

It sounds like the other is busy and tired with his new movie, but he says the project is one he’s eager to be a part of. He doesn’t tell Aran what it’s about, no matter how much the athlete insists, but he does mention something about a dance routine, which only increases Aran’s curiosity.

“In a few weeks, we’ll move to Tokyo for filming,” Shinsuke says, after a while. “I’d like to be able to see you, whenever you’re free.”

Aran smiles. “Of course! When are you coming?”

“The plan is to be there by the 14th.”

The volleyball player does the math in his head — only two and a half weeks from now. He doesn’t have plans besides the usual routine, but he’d been planning on meeting up with some guys from high school for a while now.

“Hey,” he says, “have you got a place to stay here in Tokyo?”

The other hesitates. “Not yet.”

“You could stay with me if you want.” He says it before he can back out. “I live alone, but there’s plenty of space for you still. It’s not downtown, but it’s close to the station and there are some good restaurants nearby, too…”

“Thank you, Aran.” The actor’s tone is hesitant, and Aran disappoints himself. It’s been a while since the two saw each other, but he’d hoped the actor would be just as eager as he is to see each other. “I’d love to.”

Aran’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Of course. It’s very kind of you to offer.” Shinsuke huffs softly, almost a laugh. “I’m not the best cook, to be honest, but I do enjoy cleaning and tidying up, so I’ll do my best not to freeload off your kindness.”

“No, no— don’t worry about that! You don’t have to do anything.” Aran feels his heart beat faster. “It’s enough just to be able to see you… it’s been quite a while, Shinsuke.”

The actor hums. “It has indeed.”

The two of them talk for a while longer before Shinsuke says he has to leave, but Aran bids him good night and doesn’t stop thinking about Shinsuke, Shinsuke,  _ Shinsuke… _

The two weeks pass by in a flash. He ends up seeing his high school friends after all, meeting them in Kakogawa for his birthday, and it’s great just being able to catch up with them. Miya Atsumu is in the MSBY Black Jackals so he and Aran end up seeing each other often, and obviously Rintarou hasn’t missed him at all since the last time they saw each other, but seeing Osamu, Ginjima, and Akagi leaves him happy and content to see where how far they’ve all come.

They all promise to keep in touch, and though they all know how empty the promise is, it’s still comforting, in a way. They’d been through a lot together, way back when, and though they’ve drifted apart it’s still good to know they’ll be there.

And then, before he knows it, Shinsuke is coming over to stay with him.

For two whole months.

Gods bless his heart.

Aran picks him up from the shinkansen station, but he must have overestimated his emotional stability and underestimated Kita Shinsuke’s charm because the actor is simply  _ beautiful _ . After more than half a year away from the actor, it’s like he’s seeing things he never saw before — not even when he was kissinghuggingholding him.

His hair has grown out quite a bit, his roots starting to show, and his skin is definitely tanner than it had been half a year ago. It makes him look healthier, happier… and there’s also something different in his eyes, almost like there’s a weight off him now.

Aran himself has grown out a beard and he’s gained a bit of muscle, but overall he doesn’t think there’s anything different in him — not like there is with Shinsuke. Somehow, the shorter man just looks more content than he had before, and it makes Aran want to know why and how and when, wanting to listen to the actor talk and talk for hours.

“Hi Aran,” Shinsuke says, smiling softly. “You look good.”

“Y-you too.” Aran curses himself for stuttering, but, really, can anyone blame him? Shinsuke went from stone-cold to… whatever this  _ happiness _ is. “How was the trip?”

The actor shrugs. “Normal.”

As the athlete guides him to his car, the two make small talk about everything they didn’t discuss during their phone call two weeks ago. Aran tells him about meeting his friends, and Shinsuke tells him his older sister had a child — a beautiful young girl — and also comments on how beautiful Fukuoka was.

On the way to his home, Shinsuke mentions being hungry and they stop at a drive-through. Fast food isn’t really a part of his diet and Rintarou will have his ass for it later, but at the moment Aran doesn’t quite care.

They get to his place and Shinsuke compliments him on his decor and tidiness, oblivious to the fact that it was actually Rintarou who decorated his place — and also to the fact that Aran had spent the past days obsessively cleaning his own apartment.

“The couch is one of those ones that can turn into a bed,” Aran explains as the actor takes off his coat. “I’ve already prepared my room for you, so you can leave your stuff there. I wake up early in the mornings to go for a run, but I’ve brought most of my things to the living room so don’t worry about me waking you.”

Shinsuke’s eyes are wide. “There’s no need for that, Aran — I don’t mind waking up early, and I’ve been meaning to start running again…”

“Oh.” Aran beams. “That’s great, Shinsuke! We can go together, then!”

At his words, the actor looks down with a nice smile on his face, and Aran thinks he’s definitely fucked.

*

On July 5th, Aran and Rintarou organize a surprise birthday party for Shinsuke. They enlist the help of Shinsuke’s close friends, Oomimi and, surprisingly, Oohira, as well as the Kita family, and decorate Aran’s entire apartment. The Kita siblings make tofu hamburger, which is apparently Shinsuke’s favorite food, and Aran orders the actor’s favorite brand of mochi, because there’s no way he’ll risk trying to cook and set the kitchen on fire —  _ again _ .

When Shinsuke gets home from work and sees everyone together, he gasps but doesn’t cry — and it has Aran wondering just what exactly it’ll take for the other to break.

The party goes well. He gets along with Shinsuke’s younger brother, but especially with his older sister, who’s a fan. Oohira tells Aran about another movie he’s writing — about a young girl who can see people’s pasts through touch —, and even offers him a minor role in the film, but the athlete politely rejects him.

Oomimi has a harsh appearance, but he turns out to be very polite and earnest. He says he also used to play volleyball in high school, but that now he has fun as a  _ Rakugoka _ . Aran is surprised when hearing the other works with Rakugo, but when he thinks about it, it starts making more and more sense how Oomimi and Shinsuke are friends.

Everyone gives the actor their presents: his sister gives him slippers, his younger brother a book, and Oomimi some homemade gloves. Oohira gives him new headphones, and Aran complements them with a new charger.

Shinsuke thanks all of them for everything, and after a while Oohira leaves, needing to work. After that, more and more people go home until it’s just Shinsuke and Aran.

“You can go take a shower,” the volleyball player says. “I’ll clean up.”

“There’s no need—”

“I’ll clean up.” Aran fixes him with a strong gaze, not letting the other argue. “Go take a shower, Shinsuke. You stink.”

The actor pouts, but still leaves the living room without arguing. “Thank you, Aran.”

Aran watches him leave and sighs. Throughout their time living together, he likes to think they’ve definitely gotten closer… and there are times when he thinks he might have a chance, after all. There was one time, after they’d both had dinner, and they’d cuddled up on the couch and watched a movie, and Shinsuke had been so close… And then another time, too, when they’d been recognized by fans on the street and Shinsuke had actually  _ blushed _ when the fans asked them if they’d been on a date.

Aran thinks it’s not such a long shot anymore, but at the same time… the closer the two of them get, the harder it all becomes, and the deeper Aran falls. It’s not love yet, he doesn’t think, but it’s very,  _ very _ close.

He makes sure to tidy everything up, thankful that Oohira had washed the dishes before leaving. Shinsuke doesn’t like messes, and he doesn’t like dirty places, and it’s good for Aran because it motivates him to at least clean up after himself.

Aran hears the bathroom door open but he’s busy wiping the table, so he doesn’t turn around. Besides, he likes to respect Shinsuke’s privacy and won’t look unless spoken to.

“You feeling refreshed?” He asks instead, trying to reach a particularly distant spot on the table without having to actually walk around to get it. “We can watch a movie if you want, or if you’re tired, that’s—”

Suddenly, strong arms close around his torso.

Aran freezes when he realizes what’s happening, and it’s truly  _ embarrassing _ how fast he gets hard once he does.

“Aran,” Shinsuke says, his breath ghosting over the nape of the taller’s neck and sending shivers through his spine. “ _ Aran _ .”

The athlete takes a deep breath. He’s extremely and painfully aware of the other’s bare arms around him, of the actor’s naked chest touching his clothed back, of  _ Shinsuke’s _ heart beating in rhythm to his own.

“Sh-Shinsuke.” Aran swallows along a dry throat. “Are you alright?”

Those strong arms gently move him around until he’s facing Shinsuke, and then, just like that, there’s nothing stopping him from leaning down and kissing the life out of the shorter man. With those golden brown eyes staring so intently, so  _ hungrily _ , at him, he almost can’t stop himself, all pretense of control leaving his body.

“Kiss me,” Shinsuke whispers, his eyes drifting down to his lips. “ _ Please _ .”

Aran does.

This isn’t their first kiss, nor their second, nor their tenth. They’ve kissed many times before, but those times were all in front of dozens of people, and they’d been following a script, and they hadn’t been themselves.

_ This _ kiss, though.

This kiss is perfect.

*

Aran and Shinsuke aren’t married, but they do live together. They have two dogs and a pet turtle, and both are happy with their careers.

Ojiro Aran retired as a professional volleyball player when he was 36, and ever since then he’s been coaching his old high school team, Inarizaki High. Though most of his students think he’s too old now, they all respect and admire him and, really, that’s all anyone ever needs.

Kita Shinsuke’s still going strong as an actor, and he’s even directed some small projects here and there. With several small-time awards to his name, he’s about to retire, too.

Not many people know the two of them are together, even after all this time.

It happens gradually, as the youth of Japan start opening themselves up and start developing an aesthetic for the 2020’s decade. More and more people, especially online, start discussing ‘But If I Love You…’, and the film starts gaining in popularity until, eventually, even the media starts reporting on it. While calling the movie a ‘cult classic’, many news reports start reaching out to the main actors involved, asking for their opinion on the matter.

Tanigawa-kun, now a well-established actor, is the first to comment, saying that he is very grateful to the experience and for the opportunity, but that he has since moved on and doesn’t want this to affect his current projects. Kusumoto-kun, who’s just as famous an actor as Tanigawa, says the movie was a dear part of his life and that he would be “very interested” in a cast reunion.

Both Kai and Oohira thank the internet and their fans for this newly-invested interest in a project that is still dear to them. They say they’ll look into getting a reunion organized, but make no promises.

Yukie, now a well-known drama actress, also agrees to a cast reunion. She says she still keeps in touch with many of her colleagues, and that the experience is very dear to her. Sou and Aone also express interest.

No one manages to get either Aran or Shinsuke for short interviews, but eventually the two end up agreeing to the reunion.

Meeting everyone again sure does bring back memories, but for Aran it’s the knowledge, the  _ closure _ , that they all get while looking out at the excited crowd of young people. Some of the teens are there with their parents, looking at them with wide eyes and bright smiles, and some are with their group of friends — these are also the ones holding the Pride flags, the signs that scream out encouraging messages, the ones holding hands and shouting their lungs out. 

_ That’s _ what really hits him, then, what makes him realize that everything was worth it.

As they get up on the stage, Shinsuke takes Aran’s hand in his and the screams only get louder. Cameras flutter and reporters start shouting questions, but neither pays them any mind.

When Aran turns to smile at his partnerhusbandlove, he instead freezes.

There are heavy tears falling from Shinsuke’s eyes as he looks out at the crowd.

_ Yeah _ , Aran thinks, trying not to cry along with him.  _ Love will _ always  _ be enough _ .

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a year since lockdown started and it's been hard for everyone... lately I've been feeling very down but I'm grateful that me and my family have all been relatively privileged during this time. So many people lost so much, and it's absolutely terrible, but it helps to remember there are still so many good things worth living for.
> 
> AND REMEMBER: Black lives still matter even if there aren't that many people talking about it anymore. If you can, please check out this link (https://www.nylon.com/life/black-people-with-disabilities-donations-resources) and donate, or help spread it around! <3
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! Join me on tumblr @notpensboat so we may spread the 'Loving Aran Ojiro' agenda <333333


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